-
yes
“the stars are falling, can you see?” “yes, i can see them through your closed lids,” “hm…can i stay here, every day, every day, forever and forever? in your field of roses, milking moon, and your warm back?” “yes”
-
tipped talon
that poisoned tipped talon dipped into the hole of my chest, the fever dreams , / nausea swirling toxic , / quaking—look at me! she scrapes, look at me! monstrosity scintillating, perched, tittering, crickeling curled grin; satisfied,
-

Time slips
like a black slimy creaturely thing, its tail end barely grasped before it slips into a still pool reflecting stars so sharp, it feels like judgment and when you dare look up they shriek in pin pricks with every roll of your eye, pressing down, bending your back till your head bows in prayer from…
-

A note under my nail bed
A note under my nail bed, words in soft pink— Eons I have labored each membrane thinned to perceive what is I and in eyes immensity unfolds and Time stretches no more
-

The Verse of Being.
There were four children who wove the wicker of fire that colors every blade of grass, every eye that is. One covered the sky, in her disappearance she sparked secrets that swirled in her silent cauldron And the other, took the form of sea foam, she came and went playfully sprinkling precious salt, sea shells…
-

Night Unnamed
The warm fleece upon my shoulders the wings set along my blades the fire sparked within my belly, the lute wrought into my throat all placed by the weaves of her deep tresses her upon whom I wish her upon whom I pray she who thrums through my breast, strikes the skin on my bones…
-

The Lover
There is a man with a lute his eyes thread clouds sunsets line his skin, and soil perfume his breath, ever present, ever-awake— He never speaks but through strings he sings a yearning for what has gone and come gone again… like lovers linked in a dance, spinning away till hands stretch to the last filament…
